


We are Star Stuff

by JackyJango



Series: Asteroid M [1]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angry Erik, Angst, Angst and Feels, Best Friends, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles is a Professor, Erik is a Father, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, dadneto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 07:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10079264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyJango/pseuds/JackyJango
Summary: Where Charles is angry. Lorna is perceptive. Erik is wounded. There are fights and feelings. Maybe, not in that particular order.Part of the modern day, non-powered AU: Take Charles Xavier, a Genetics Professor. Add his best friend and football/soccer player and coach Erik Lehnsherr to balance the equation. Use Lorna Lehnsherr, Erik's teenage daughter as a catalyst. Accidentally add Charles' nosy sister Raven and Erik's meddling friends- Azazel and Janos to the mix. It can only result in an exothermic reaction.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For reasons beyond me, this fic is extremely close to my heart. I'm really sorry about the length but I can only tell you that the title will make sense towards the end.
> 
> English is not my native language and this is not beta'd, so there are bound to be mistakes. Please forgive them!?
> 
> Hope you enjoy. Cheers!

With these two dorks as best friends!

* * *

       

          It’s almost eight when Charles hears the knocking on the door. ‘Coming,' he shouts from where he had settled on the sofa with a book in hand. His response however, does very little to abate the persistent abuse on the door. Frankly, he had expected her an hour ago. What she still is doing here, he has no idea. Jaded by the long day- full with hours of classes- he trudges through the hallway.

‘If I recall correctly, your flight leaves in less than three hours. So however did you manage to get late?' he questions, opening the door to the blonde in front of him. The latter just grins as if she sees right through his faux authority. 

‘And hence the urgency dear brother,' she sings, leaning on the young girl in front of her.  ‘ Lorna and I were having so much fun that we completely lost track of time. ’ No surprises there then. Still, he continues to stare at her with narrowed eyes, just to prove that he had meant business earlier.

‘Jeez Charles!' Raven rolls her eyes. 'I still had some last-minute packing to do, oka y? I  had promised you take out. Hadn't I? Plus, do you know how difficult it is to hail a taxi in Utopia? Oh, and then I- ’ Charles holds up his hand and nods, stopping her trail of excuses. Left to her, she could go all night. Lorna just observes the exchange between the siblings with a resigned boredom.

‘Come in darling.' He sighs, opening the door further for Lorna to enter.

‘Alright. Here's your dinner and Lorna's bag.' She hands Charles a bag of noodles and a backpack.

‘Lorna,' she calls, turning and hugging the girl in the doorway.  ‘ Till next time, girl.'

Lorna hugs her back with equal fervour, her previous lassitude almost absent. Sometimes Charles wonders if Lorna loves Raven more than her own father. Then again, even if she did, she couldn't be blamed. Pulling back Raven points a finger at her. ‘Remember everything we discussed, all right?' The two of them giggle as though they share some private joke. Lorna salutes and holds her chin up at Raven.  ‘ Aye Aye Captain. ’

Laughing, Raven turns to Charles. 'All right Charles. I'll see you in a few weeks, Yeah?' She hugs him tight, kissing his cheek. He simply nods, loathe to let her go. 

'You sure you don't want me to drop you to the airport?' he asks when she pulls back.

'Nah, cab is waiting. ’ She points her thumb to the car on the street. 'Plus, you have an early class tomorrow. You get all cranky without your beauty sleep.’ When Charles shoots a glare her way, she chuckles and retreats from the doorway.

'Call me when you reach, ’ he calls out when she is halfway down the stairs. 

Raising her thumb up in the air, Raven shouts over her shoulder, 'Don't miss me too much.'

Charles somehow doubts that it will happen.

*

He finds Lorna slumped on the sofa when he enters the living room. 'Dinner?' he asks, lifting the bag of food in his hand. Lorna eyes at it as though comprehending something before she asks, 'Are you sure it's sufficient for two?'

'It's more than sufficient darling.' He places its contents on the table and begins unpacking it. 'Besides, I can't digest much this late. ’

At that, he hears her laugh; small but always pleasant. 'God, Raven was right. You really are an old fart. ’

'Lorna, ’ he drawls out without looking up. He really should talk to his sister about the kind of language she is feeding the young girl when she returns.

'Anyways, I’m good. Thanks, ’ she continues ignoring him, 'I finished dinner at Raven’s.’  'And at Jean’s before that,’ she adds as an afterthought.

When Charles finally looks up at her from where he is standing by the table, he finds her staring at the edge of the Persian carpet, thumbs fiddling, brows scrunched up. The laughter from moments ago, however small has vanished, now replaced by... frustration? Anger? Weariness? He can't narrow down her expression to one mood.  _ Only if he could read minds,  _ he thinks. But then, Charles has never required superpowers to deduce Lorna’s or her Father's thought processes. It may be a black hole to others but to him, they were always uncannily similar and familiar.

It is very tempting to pull her into his arms and ebb some of that strain away like he used to do when she was a child. But off late, she seemed to be in this rebellious bubble, shouting profanities and yelling at everybody to _stay the_ _fuck away_ from her. Something to do with being a teenager _and_ Erik's daughter, Charles supposes; Raven being the only exception to the rule.

Instead, he walks to the sofa and oh so gingerly sits next to her, like she were an injured bird; places a hand on her far shoulder and asks softly, voice barely above a whisper: 'tired?' If she doesn't object to the gesture, she surely must be. ‘Yeah, ’ she replies shrugging, eyes still on the carpet. 'Fucking practice. Draws the life out of you.'

'Lorna… language,' he warns, firmer this time. 'Your father wouldn't appreciate it dear. ’

After a beat, Lorna bolts upright without warning; crosses the coffee table towards her backpack beside the sofa, picks it up and turns towards Charles, a challenge in her eyes, 'Speaking of, where is he anyways? Did he forget he has a daughter?' she bites, ' _ Again _ ?' Charles’ startled expression doesn't seem to slow her down. 'Does he even  know that I'm here and not at Raven's, Charles?' Charles’ heart sinks at the clear hurt that storms in her sea green eyes. Though she tries to keep it firm, her voice wavers on the last bit. Hackles rise up his throat towards Erik for making her feel this way. But he wouldn't express it front of her, he would never do that.

'I’m sure he does, dear,' he stutters.

'I tried calling him. He’s not reachable,' she explains, as if he were a child. 'Did  _ you _ talk to him?'

He hadn't. He hadn't seen Erik in three days and spoken to him in two. Every time he had tried to call since, had gone straight to voicemail. He didn't even know where Erik was. Of course, he couldn't tell her that. He had to come up with a reply that wasn't the truth and fast, which seemed honest enough to convince her.

He knew that she saw the conflict on his face as she stared at him waiting for an answer. Whatever she saw was enough for her to resign and sigh. 'Seriously? Why you even try to defend the man is beyond me.' She chuckles ruefully.

Uttering those words, she sounds so much older than her fourteen years and Charles is all too familiar with that look. He is incapable of seeing anybody like this; let alone his god-daughter. If it reminds him of his own childhood, he chooses to ignore it in favour of the anger he feels for Erik.

'Why don't you go to bed? I'll wake you up when he comes,' he says instead. _ If he ever does _ , goes unsaid. Lorna raises her eyebrows, disbelief etched in her features but turns to leave towards the guest bedroom without a reply. 'Take a shower while you're at it. There are a pair or two of your clothes in the closet. It'll make you feel better dear,' he offers softly, hoping she wouldn't bite back and would take the gesture as an apology. If she does notice the pleading tone in his voice, she doesn't react and leaves the room for Charles to swim in his thoughts.

He hadn't lied to her precisely, but it was close and it makes him feel guilty, nonetheless.

In the last half an hour, he had called Erik over and again, only in vain. He had tried eating dinner, but couldn't get past more than a few mouth fulls. This was not the first time Erik had left Lorna to Charles’ care. The girl had practically grown up with him and he would never complain about having to look after her. But he would never be able to compensate for the absence of her father either. Try all he may,  _ he would never be her father _ . That fact alone is enough to churn Charles’ stomach in a different way. He buries those thoughts deep inside his head before he could even contemplate what it means.  _ One issue at a time. _

It is not that Erik is negligent of Lorna. Erik loves her with all his heart. But over the course of the last year, Erik has seemed… different. For others, he would appear perfectly normal- well, at least ‘normal’ which applies to Erik. But for Charles, who has known him for the better part of over fifteen years, Erik had changed after Eddie’s death. Now, he seems… more distant, more reckless and angrier. He has seen Erik spin off after Jacob died. But this was nothing compared to that. Charles cannot even wrap his head around the fact that Erik could be angrier than what he previously was; apparently, it was possible.

He could empathise with Erik, could understand the reason for his aloofness, the need to build a castle around his feelings so strong that they daren't come out. But that was not an excuse to ignore his own daughter. Not an excuse to make Lorna worry for her _only_ parent. _Again_. Nothing was an exception to that. Anger encompasses him just at the thought of Lorna’s disappointed look; his hands fists of their own accord. When he would see Erik the next time, he would have a target to direct all of that. He wouldn't let him get away with it this time.

He busies his mind in preparing tea. It must have rained in the meantime; as Charles leaves the kitchen and enters the living room, mug in hand, the curtains billow under the fresh breeze that flows through the open window on the far side of the hall; the smell of wet earth emanating with the wind. Through the window, the bamboo thickets rustle and glisten under the only street lamp.

He sets up his pillow and blanket on the sofa and absently sips on his mug of tea, the book he was reading, now forgotten on the side table. Good thing he had decided to spend extra money on a sofa that could double as a small bed by lifting its lower flap. He slept most of the nights on it, anyway; his king size bed too big and empty for his own consumption.

The darkness which fills the room when he switches off the lights is soothing, not completely dark, with the street light still creeping through the window, but just enough that when he removes his glasses and lays his head on the pillow, his eyes close readily. The day’s exhaustion catches up to him and he drifts off to the rattle of chess pawns on the board by the window- the wind tossing, turning and spilling them. His half awake mind supplies him with the fact that the board was left mid match when Erik was here three days ago. It had seemed that Charles was winning then. Now... they'll never know.

*

When Charles wakes up again, it is to the constant banging on his front door, which only grows in frequency and intensity by the minute. Clearly Erik.

He reaches for his glasses and phone on the side table to check the time. Way past midnight. Slipping out of the blankets, he plods towards the entrance and opens the door. Almost instantly, his face hits a wall of cigarette smoke. Though his glasses bear the brunt of it, his eyes close instinctively and his throat threatens a cough. He waves his hand frantically in the air to clear it off of the fumes and wipes his glasses for good measure. His lower body shivers under the attack of the chill breeze seeping through his pyjama pants, which had gotten chiller as the night had progressed. Being the light sleeper he is, the onslaught on his senses shoos away any remaining thread of sleep from his system.

When he opens his eyes, he sees Erik’s right profile through a thin veil of smoke. The delicate moonlight frames his person and dances around his back, shoulders and head. The kindled red of the cigarette butt in Erik's left hand does nothing to illuminate his face. Charles internally curses the city board for not fixing the street light despite his persistent complains (the bloody thing didn't stay on for more than three hours). In its absence, the valley is bathed in pale silver. Erik is staring off into the general direction of the mountains, his posture straight, shoulders square, feet planted wide and his other hand buried in his pocket. The tips of his short, wind swept hair are tinged in a light grey; the colour dragging down the back of his black leather jacket, ripped jeans and riding boots. The shiny black metal of the tank Charles sees in front of the  garage, when he peers through the bars of the staircase railing is proof enough. If the sound of its engine hadn't woken him up, he must have slept through it, which is rare; he could identify the sound of the monstrosity even in his sleep.

The scene in front of him is good enough to be a blissful dream if not for his alert mind or the anger fighting to burst out of him. Lorna's helmet is nowhere that Charles can see; for that matter, Erik's own helmet is missing. He had driven all the way from the city without a helmet or gloves, in this time of night then. That reason alone is enough on most days for Charles to berate Erik.

_ Choose your battles,  _ he tells himself.

'I’ve been trying to call you,' is what he says, out of all things he had been debating on. There really was no point getting offensive with  Eri k; it never ended well.

'Phone is dead,' declares Erik, tone calm, without breaking his gaze from the horizon.

Charles doesn't even know what narks him more- the indifference in Erik's voice or the fact that Erik's statement effectively cuts him off of the rant he would go for next about ‘Acting like a responsible adult and informing people of your whereabouts’.

'You left Lorna with Raven and Raven is on a flight to Milan as we speak, ’ he enunciates the words closing his eyes, slow and firm, as if can register the implication of the fact directly into Erik's mind by doing so.

Erik takes a long drag of his cigarette, eyes still fixed on the woods. 'So Lorna is here then,’ he infers out loud, looks to the floor and nods, more to himself than to Charles. He looks up to the sky and huffs out a smoky breath. 'Okay.’

_ Okay? _ The nerve on the man. Charles all but explodes. 'Okay? Is that all you have to say Erik? Your daughter has not seen you in two days and all you have to say is  _ okay?  _ You won't pick your calls. You won't reply to texts. Your practice sessions have gone for a toss. Anne was asking to speak to you. Janos doesn't know where you are. Azazel says that he hasn’t spoken to you. Do you even know how many people I have had to lie to, for you? ’ Charles fires fact after fact.

Though he cannot see Erik's face, he knows him well enough by body language alone that it has not affected him one bit. it is like he was  _ expecting  _ it. So Charles continues, unwilling to accept defeat.

'Two bloody days Erik. Do you know how worried you leave her every time you run away somewhere? Couldn't you at least let her know when you would return? Let her know you were safe? I don't know if you have noticed, but she isn't a small girl anymore. You can't leave her be, like  _ before _ .'

There is no response from Erik but his back goes rigid, his shoulders tense and he inhales forcefully, the sound of which fills the static silence. Charles knows that mentioning Eddie in any form- person or sense puts Erik on edge. Though he would try his best to avoid doing it any other day, this time however, he can't seem to care.  _ He's getting angry _ .  _ Good _ , Charles thinks. He knows Erik is trying very hard not to react now- physically or otherwise.

He takes his chance to plough on when Erik takes another drag of the tobacco, the red end of the stub dangerously close to his face.

'Your were with Emma, weren't you? ’ Charles had harboured the doubt all along, but he wanted the fact from Erik himself.

Being the shoddy liar that he is, Erik turns to his left and settles his gaze on the street below.  _ So he was with Emma. _

Bile floods Charles’ insides and stings his throat for reasons he doesn't want to admit. Along with the weight of the anger he had been hoarding through the night, his stomach threatens to give away. He really was getting old for this.

'Then why didn't you stay there?' he hurls. He's surprised at the jab in his voice, aggravated by the relative silence. 'If you really think that you can-'.

'Fuck it Charles, ’ Erik snaps, flinging the cigarette to the ground and stomping on it with unnecessary force.

Even though he initially is taken aback, Charles is not surprised by the reaction; he's just surprised by how long it had taken.

'I would have stayed, if I could have,' Erik bites, finally looking directly into his eyes. The right of his face is moonlit and his eye is a steel grey, like edges of jagged glass glinting in the moonshine, almost animalistic. It sends shivers down Charles’ spine. It takes him a beat for the implication of Erik's words to reach his mind. Before he could react, Erik jabs a finger in his direction: 'Screw you Charles,’ and begins to leave. Reflexively, Charles catches Erik's outstretched hand.

For the mobile furnace Erik is, his fingers are ice cold and calloused to the touch. Charles’ mind wants to leave him outside to freeze, but his heart wants to pull him to his chest and keep him warm. His disloyal heart wins in the end. So he tugs at Erik's hand just an inch and whispers tentatively, 'Come in.’ It comes out more of a question than a statement. Erik contemplates the offer before his jaws unclench and nods.

*

Anyone who knows Erik, also knows that the man has an appetite of a shark. While others ate food, Erik consumed it- time, frequency, quality or quantity no bar. Though Charles wouldn't encourage anyone to eat in the middle of the night, with Erik, he lets it drop.

He walks to the kitchen leaving the door open while Erik parks his motorbike in the garage and takes up to the task of reheating the leftover dinner. If Erik had not stayed with Emma, things had gone sour between the two. A wretched thing called hope bubbles up his stomach at the thought of it; he swallows forcefully to push it back down to where it belongs. 

Fighting with Erik while he already was in a bitter mood would only result in losing him to a few more days. He couldn't risk that.

People thought that dealing with Erik was a Herculean task, though it was true in some situations, Charles had discovered long ago that it was not in most. Dealing with Erik was fairly simple; it was like dealing with a child. You try to scold an already enraged child and it will do exactly what you prohibit it to. So instead of confronting Erik now, he would wait. Though he doesn't like the idea, he wills his anger and discomfort to abate. He would offer Erik dinner and try to catch an hour or two of sleep.

Charles is distracted from his thoughts by the metallic ‘clunk’ of the front door locking, followed by two soft thuds.  _ So he did remember to remove his boots.  _ His anger dissolves some more at the thought. He removes the contents from the microwave and moves to the fridge to retrieve a bottle from it. Behind him, he hears footsteps and after a beat, the sound of the kitchen bar stool swinging under a weight.

'Sorry, this is all that is left. I didn't know whether you’d be coming or not, ’ he begins and turns around placing the food and water on the counter, a few feet away from Erik.

'I hope it’s  suffi - ’ When he finally looks up, he gasps aloud at the sight in from him. Under the cabinet lights, Erik’s left face is matted with a dark patch from head to chin. Though his brain knows what it is, his heart desperately weighs other possibilities.

' _Erik!_ _’_ he pules, his legs crossing the distance and his hands involuntarily moving to the caked blood on the side of Erik’s face.

Erik follows Charles’ hand from where it starts on his forehead, cheek, jaw, the edge of his jacket and stops just an inch above his heart.

'Fucking Bastard, he bloodied my jacket, ’ Erik spits. 'Paid a fucking fortune for this one,’ he growls under his breath. He brings up his hand to wipe off the dried blotches of blood from his jacket, the action exposing his knuckles, from where the skin has abraded along the ridges and covered with red.

Charles knows that the reason for Erik's state will ramify his anger in a hundred different ways later, but now he can't care. All his anger has already melted and solidified into concern and worry. He doesn't have it in him to speak; not until he knows Erik is fine. He reaches for the tissue roll on the far end of the counter, yarns a handful, dampens it under the sink and comes back to Erik.

'Stay still, ’ he orders. He doesn't care that his voice wobbles, just relieved that Erik is still as a rock beneath him. He starts wiping the dried blood from where it starts on Erik's forehead, dragging it along the course of his face. A layer of sand and dust come off onto the white material but Erik's blood is just as stubborn as him. Abandoning the task, he throws the ragged tissue in the trash and speeds to the bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit.

'Wait here. Don't go anywhere, ’ he calls to Erik over his shoulder, as if Erik would vanish if he leaves him out of his sight.

Erik’s eyes are fixed on the kit in Charles’ hand when he returns to the kitchen. He places the box next to Erik on the counter and pulls out a dab of cotton and bottle of spirit from it.

'This is going to sting. Hold still, ’ he says as he dampens the cotton in the spirit. With Erik sitting, elbows pressed on the counter and facing him, Charles  h as the advantage of an inch or two over him, where he stands between Erik’s legs. He’s standing close now, so close that he can smell the cheap alcohol coming off with Erik’s breath. Erik is looking at him, mouth agape, eyes wide and sincere. It does things to him- that look. He doesn’t want to think about it, it’s a slippery slope and he knows better not to start down it.  _ Concentrate on the task in hand,  _ he tells himself.

Charles has cleaned Erik’s wounds more times than he can remember. But no matter how many times he does it, every time feels like the first and every cut- small or big, hurts him equally deep.

Though Erik doesn’t respond bodily, his muscles tense once Charles begins to clean. With every stroke of the cotton, he blows on the blood as though that action alone can shoo away the gore and pain from Erik. The blood abates, exposing a fresh layer of muscle. The cut itself is at least an inch deep and is the kind that would leave scars. Thankfully, it stops above his cheekbone, so his hairline may just hide it. He cleans the knuckles after, and covers it with antiseptic and gauge.

Now he understands why Erik came directly to him. He didn’t want Lorna to see him like this. It matters little now; she would see it one way or another.

_ When and how did this happen _ ? he wants to ask but if the skin and blood have not stuck to the muscle, it must have been  recent. Plus, he also knows that Erik’s answer will only serve to kick his resolve to stay calm.

'Alright, this should hold up till tomorrow. I’m taking you to the hospital first thing in the morning. You will get tested for concussions, get that wound stitched and get a tetanus shot, ’ he says drawing away. 

'I don’t have a  concus -' Erik starts, but Charles cuts him short. 'It’s not up for negotiation. ’

Charles cannot see Erik’s reaction as he busies himself in putting the kit back and clearing the cotton stubs but Erik’s voice is forcefully calm when he gets up from the stool. 'I do not have a concussion Charles. I drove till here. I would have known by now if I had one.'

'Speaking of- it’s a bloody mistake that you drove all this way in this state without-' he starts but whatever he was going to say next gets shadowed by Erik's deep voice that booms through the kitchen, powerful enough to make the utensils vibrate. 'For fuck's sake Charles, if you don't want me here, just say it. I'll leave.'

Charles flinches, both by the sound and the thought. 'Don't shout! She's asleep,' he hisses.

'Why the fuck do you act like you are the only one who cares about her? I’m her father, I care about her equally,' Erik growls, voice dipped in accusation.

And there drains out Charles’ decision to stay calm. 'Do you Erik? Really? Because you have a funny way of showing it. Did you think of her once before punching some unfortunate guy? And what did he do to deserve it anyway- did he not serve your drink on time? Did it not once occur to you what would happen if that guy decides to press charges?'

Erik has his fingers caught up in a fist so tight that dots of red begin to appear on the gauge atop his knuckles. 'He won't be fucking pressing charges, ’ he spits.

'I'm not bailing you out this time even if he does.' Charles knows he's over reacting but it’s long overdue.

'Then don't. I have never asked you to. You do it all of your own accord! Why do you do it, anyway? To prove to everybody that you are a hero and that I’m not fit enough to be her father?'

'How dare you say that Erik?' Charles whispers. It pains him to believe what he's hearing.  _ It’s because I love you, you bastard! _ he wants to shout. There is not a shred of uncertainty on Erik’s face. Suddenly, the man in front of him seems like a stranger and not his best friend. He doesn’t want to give Erik the satisfaction of knowing exactly how his words mark him. So he swallows to make sure that his voice doesn't shake before he says, 'I think I would like to retire. Please finish your dinner. Good night,' and starts a sprint for his bedroom.

*

Once he’s secure in the confines of his bedroom walls and has pulled his feelings into a tight bundle around his chest, he realises that he’s still clutching the medical kit in his hands, his knuckles ghost white around the handle. He deposits it in the bathroom cabinet and flops down on the cold bed. He doesn’t remember when he last slept on it. His pillow and blankets are on the sofa, but if going out of his room means an encounter with Erik, he is happy to sleep with the spare ones. His mind wants to deck Erik's face with wounds of his own but his heart wants to kiss the existing ones away.

Sleep is an elusive mistress he can’t seem to entice through the night. He sleeps in fits. Whatever little he manages to catch hold of vanishes with Raven’s call in the early hours of the morning. He doesn’t have the heart to drop her call when she is excitedly blabbering about Milan and singing in unison with her other companions.

At around seven, he readies himself for university and leaves his room to prepare breakfast. Erik- never being the morning person- wouldn’t be up this early.  _ Thank god for small mercies!  _ When he enters the kitchen, a bowl of noodles and a bottle of water stare back at him from the exact spot he had left them in. A broken sigh leaves him when he exhales.

Lorna walks into the kitchen dressed in her jersey for practise and after breakfast is prepared, he sends her out to wake Erik. Thankfully, breakfast goes without incident. Even if Lorna sees Erik's injuries, she doesn't bring it up. The  Lehnsherrs don’t protest when he herds them to his car, citing that he wouldn't let them drive back into town without their helmets. It must be Charles’ lucky day, because even the ride back to town goes smoothly, with Erik sprawled on the back seat and dozing, and Lorna looking out of the window next to him.

Erik doesn’t speak to him once throughout and Charles is all but happy to return the favour.

Charles is cranky through the course of the day, a ghastly ache milling around in his head. No amount of tea clears it. With no business that requires his presence, he gives up after noon and heads home.

In his living room, the sofa is still occupied by his pillow at one end and blankets pooled at the other. This day last year, he was helping Eddie prepare a chocolate cake while Lorna and Jean experimented with the process of ice cream making. A fond smile blooms across his face at the memory. If he concentrates hard enough, he can still smell the cake, fresh from the oven. It’s comforting, that smell- it smells like,  _ home.  _ So much so that before long he’s toeing off his shoes and lying down. His pillow smells like cigarettes and fresh earth and sea salt. That smell lulls him to a deep sleep.

*

A loud sound pulls Charles from the depths of his sleep. He sits up and adjusts his glasses, which had gone askew while asleep. The sound repeats and this time, he is coherent enough to categorise it as a knock on the door. 'Coming,' he shouts. The sky has aged to a deep grey outside the window. He sighs and heads for the door. 

He wasn't expecting anyone. The only people who came unannounced were Raven and Erik. Both of them were not a possibility. At least, not this early on Erik's part.

He did however, not expect to see Lorna, who is smiling at him, dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt, instead of her jersey, her brown hair swinging in the evening breeze.

'How did you get here?' he asks a little  perplexed.

'Relax. ’ she laughs. 'I came with Erik.’

'Erik?' He definitely did not expect that. 'Where is-'

Before he can complete, Lorna snatches his hand in a vice like grip and tugs him out. 'Come on,' she says, turning towards the stairs.

'Lorna. Wait! Why are you- where is? Lorna!'

She doesn't answer and when it becomes clear that she will not, he closes the door with his other hand and jogs behind her.

Lorna stops at the base of the steps to his make shift garden next to the garage. Before he can look elsewhere, a collective yell flies over his head, 'Happy Birthday. ’

*

His garden has been re-arranged, the lowest pots moved higher up the step platform. The staircase landing cleared further to accommodate two tables side by side, housing an array of food and beverages. The bamboo shoots that have trespassed his compound have been made use of to hang serial bulbs that light the place against the darkening sky. Either they must have been very quiet with the arrangements or he must have slept through it.

Charles feels... he doesn’t know what to feel. While he has made peace with Eddie’s absence and is more than sure that all this is Raven’s making, he terribly misses them both. He also doesn't like that he’s not speaking with Erik, the latter sullenly talking to Janos. It feels like a part of him is missing- a very large part at that. But he is feeling better than what he’d been feeling all day. The nap and the drink in his hand thinning his blood and making him light headed. And when he looks around, he sees his friends, some of whom he has come to consider family. He appreciates their effort to make him feel special and doesn’t want to put it to waste.

'The Birthday boy standing alone.' He is distracted by Moira’s voice from his right. 'We should redress that Darwin, ’ she teases, while the former laughs next to her.

Despite himself, Charles smiles. He pulls her into a tight hug when she’s at arm’s length. 'Thank you for the cake darling. It was absolutely lovely, ’ he says kissing her cheek.

'Don’t thank me yet, ’ she replies, pulling back and accepting an envelope from Darwin, who is holding it out for her. She presses it to Charles’ hand and coaxes him to open. 'This is from Darwin and me.’ When Charles looks inside, ‘Massage services for two’ from the Thai spa peek at him.

'You didn’t have to, ’ Charles protests, but Darwin overtakes. 'You have been working a lot lately Charles. You deserve it.’ Charles is touched and hugs them both, conveying his gratitude.

He falls into easy conversation after that. Even his shy TA, Hank, who has brought along his journalist girlfriend is laughing without hesitation. 'Please Professor, it’s nothing big, ’ he says, pressing a box of Darjeeling tea into Charles’ hands. 'Abigail was on a tour of Asia and I figured you’d like tea.’

With Azazel’s approach, Hank runs away like he’d seen wildfire. 'Not on talking terms eh?' the Russian drawls, the consonants from his tongue as sharp as the canines he puts on display when he smirks. When Charles raises an eyebrow in question, Azazel nods to Erik’s form over his shoulder, where the latter is standing on a higher step with a screwdriver in hand, cigarette held between his lips, trying to coax a dead bulb to light up and using the height difference to scowl at the gathering at large. Charles’ face contorts into a near enough, if not similar scowl, his eyes trained on Erik. He doesn’t like this one bit. Azazel must have sensed it because he heaves a long sigh and trains Charles’ vision to his hands where he is holding out a long glass bottle containing a clear liquid.

'Pure Vodka, made from the Siberian Glacial Waters, ’ he declares, 'I even helped my uncle make it. Happy birthday little Charles!’ He grins, all teeth. On cue, Janos joins, holding out another dark bottle matching the first one in appearance. 'Fine Wine aged fifty two years from the vineyards of Spain.’ He smiles. 'Courtesy- my father.’ The bartender that Azazel was and the excellent cook that Janos is, Charles knows that the food and drinks have come from their end. He feels gratified and when he voices the same, Azazel says dreamily, 'Ah! Anything for the good Miss!' On Janos’ prompting, he recovers and adds quickly, 'And for you, of course.’ Charles doesn’t have it in him to be offended. He finds Azazel’s mortified expression so hilarious that he laughs out loud and adds, 'I’ll be sure to let her know of your hard work.’ Azazel blushes in retaliation and Charles can’t believe his eyes.

Azazel leans in towards Charles conspiratorially and starts in a lowered voice, 'Just a tit bit to help your case if it comes to it, ’ he says, pointing towards Erik, who is still sulking like a grounded child. 'He had forgotten your birthday.’ Nothing new in that then.

'Thank you Azazel,’ Charles says donning a smile. 'I’ll remember to use it as my first line of defence.’

With the night growing older and the air bringing a chill, they decide to move the party indoors. Charles is extremely glad when Azazel, Janos and Erik volunteer to stay back to pack the food and drinks and put things back in place.

Inside, when he’s in between conversations, Eliane Grey comes up to him with an embarrassed smile. 'I’m sorry Charles, ’ she says sheepishly, 'I didn't want to tag along, but I had to pick Jean.’

'Oh please, don’t be Eliane, ’ Charles says genuinely. Though the lady holds a stoic facade in the university, he has found that she is lovely company otherwise. 'You and Jean are welcome here anytime. I am very glad for your presence.’

Eliane then herds a reluctant Jean out, citing that it would take another hour to drive back to town.

'Happy birthday Charles!' He nearly yelps when Lorna pokes his shoulder from behind.

'Thank you my darling,' he replies, pulling her into a tight hug. He hadn’t realised till late as to how tall she’d grown. At fourteen, she is already a few inches scant his height, her head fitting perfectly below his chin. He still remembers holding her in his arms for the first time in the hospital nursery. 

He squeezes her shoulders once more and places an affectionate kiss atop her temple. 'So  _ this  _ was Raven’s and your secret  hmm ?' he asks, more of a statement than a question. He feels her nod on his chest.

She isn’t her usual confident self when she pulls back. She shifts from feet to feet, looking towards the ground and fiddling with her bracelet.

'What is it darling? ’ he asks, concerned.

'I… ’ she starts, still not looking at him. ‘I… Jean and I were making these bands yesterday. She  uh , she told me that I should make one for you. Since it’s your birthday you know…’ she adds quickly. 'I didn't know if you’d like it or…' she trails off. Charles’ heart aches with the new wave of affection that flows towards her.

'I would like it love. I would wear anything you make. Come on, put it on,’ he says, holding out his hand and drawing back the cuff of his right sleeve.

Lorna smiles sheepishly and pulls out a string from her back pocket and fastens its ends in front of his watch. Charles pulls it closer to his face to admire it. It is a thick string of royal blue with a metal ‘X’ in a circle tied to the centre. Like Erik, Lorna’s displays of affection are like gold in the sand- rare and precious. So he will preserve the moments like precious gems in the treasury of his heart. Charles would have been over the moon if she would have presented him with crumpled paper, let alone something she made and something so beautiful.

His glasses begin to fog and his vision blurs.

'You like it?' Lorna asks him with wide expectant eyes. Of course he does. 'Of course I do darling, ’ he says hugging her again, partly to conceal the wetness on his lashes.

She brings her hands up to his face and wipes his cheeks when she pulls back, thankfully not mentioning it. 

'I have a similar one. See! ’ She shows a similar looking band on her arm, only in vibrant green. 'I have an L for Lehnsherr, instead of  a X for Xavier,’ she explains with the enthusiasm of a child. It suits her. Charles finds himself laughing with her when she continues to explain about Jean’s band.

As midnight approaches, the crowd slowly starts to thin. Charles forces packets of food with everyone before they leave. With Azazel and Janos the last ones to leave, and with Lorna vanishing to the guest room mentioning that she’s too tired to go home, Charles finds himself alone with Erik, who has sprawled on the sofa, staring at the edge of the Persian carpet, thumbs fiddling and brows scrunched up. Charles feels like he’s sixteen all over again, unable to speak in front of Erik. He contemplates calling it a night and retiring himself, but Erik starts without looking up, 'What is that about you not feeling well?'

For a moment, Charles is confused with Erik’s question, but later guesses what Erik might be implying to. He nonchalantly leans on the table behind him, despite his beating heart and replies, 'Oh it’s nothing. Just a headache. The usual. ’

Erik grunts in acknowledgement. 'I want to apologise for what I said yesterday, ’ he says abruptly. 

Charles doesn’t know what to make of it. Erik Lehnsherr is apologising to him. It’s not that Erik hasn’t apologised to him before. It’s just that it’s never this early or  _ never  _ this easily. Charles recovers quickly, thanking God that Erik is facing down to not observe his hanging jaw before he says, 'You should apologise to Lorna. Not me. ’

'Are you two playing a game with me?' Erik asks when he looks up, the scowl still in place. 'I apologise to her and she tells me to apologise to you. I apologise to you and you tell me to apologise to her. ’

Lorna is proving to be more and more of Erik’s daughter day by day. She holds a fierce streak of protectiveness towards Charles.

'I apologised to her and it’s all okay. I was in a foul mood yesterday, ’ Erik says. Charles wants to blurt out that it's no excuse for being an idiot, but he pulls it back before it slips out of his tongue. Like everything else he does, Erik doesn’t apologise without meaning it or for the heck of it.

Charles must still have a disbelieving look on his face because Erik throws his hands up in the air and exhales a sigh at length. 'I broke up with her Charles. ’ His voice is so raw and open that Charles’ chest pains with just the sound of it. 'And before you ask, I’ll answer all your questions some other day. Just… Just not today.’ With that though, Charles can be on-board. He can wait till Erik wants to talk. Though it’s selfish on his part, he doesn’t want to talk about Emma when Erik is right in front of him. It reminds him of what he cannot have. Plus, it’s his birthday, and he’s had one too many drinks. He’s allowed to be selfish.

Erik still looks like a mass of tense muscles, so he walks to the sofa and oh so gingerly sits next to him, like he were an injured animal; touches Erik’s forehead, drawing a line along his wound with his finger and asks softly, voice barely above a whisper: 'Does it hurt?' 

Erik shakes his head firmly in negation, eyes fixed on Charles’. Charles traces his finger along the jagged skin, up and down, up and down, almost hypnotic. Like taming like a wild animal.

'You’ll go with me to the hospital tomorrow and get it looked at?' Charles asks after a small eternity. Erik searches Charles face for a long moment and nods reluctantly, leaning his head on Charles’ hand in mute apology. Charles accepts it with all his heart.

Erik’s breaths are fanning his hand, hot and electrifying against the midnight chill. He withdraws his hand before his heart starts getting other ideas.

He’s startled when Erik grabs his wrist mid air, his sight trained on his hand. Charles tenses for a moment and relaxes when Erik teases with a smirk, amusement glinting in his eyes, 'Are you wearing jewellery Charles?'

'Very funny. ’ Charles deadpans. 'Lorna gave it to me,’ he says fiddling with it.

‘Oh! How come I didn’t get one?' Erik asks petulantly, with an offended knit of his brows. The transition of his features so cartoonish that Charles fights to stiffle a laugh.

'She gave it as my birthday gift. I’m sure you’ll get one when it’s your turn,' Charles answers. 

'Speaking of. ’ Erik reaches for the space below the sofa in one swift move and comes up with a large square box. 

'Here. Happy Birthday!' He holds it out for Charles, but with the lack of space between them, the box ends up sitting on Charles’ lap. The box is clumsily covered in newspaper, which in turn is held together by duct tape. Frankly, Charles would have been over the moon if Erik were to gift him just a roll of duct tape, but he hooks up his eyebrow for Erik as if asking:  _ really? _ just to be difficult. Erik laughs in retaliation and wheedles him to open the box.

He cuts the paper like it were a flower, fully intending to preserve it. Inside, is his own chess set. White and black pawns on opposite ends, arranged in a neat and single file. He instinctively looks up to the table by the window where it usually lays- it is empty. It really is his, the one his father had gifted him on his eighth birthday.

Without knowing what to make of it, he looks at Erik. Erik laughs harder and takes over.

'I magnetised the board and added magnets to the base of the pawns, ’ he says pulling the board from Charles’ lap and inverting it in the air. 'See? Now you can leave it mid match and not worry about starting over,’ he says with a smug smile on his face.

Charles is at a loss of words in the face of it. So he simply stutters awkwardly, 'Thank you Erik. That is…  Uh … Very thoughtful... Thank you. ’

'It’s more selfish actually.' Erik snorts, returning the board to Charles. 'That thing kept rattling all night. Didn't let me sleep. ’ Nothing belonging to the category of a major calamity could rouse Erik from his sleep. And if something as petty as ratting pawns hampered it, then he must have been in the same condition Charles was in the previous night.

'But wait! I could swear that it was there when I saw it in the morning. When did you take it?' Charles asks recovering. 

'I came back from the University to get it. Long story, which I will tell you some other day,' he says picking up the nearest black rook from the board. 

'Fucker Azazel! I’m going to kill him! Told him not to fucking touch it! ’ he hisses immediately under his breath and begins to examine the rook. At Charles’ questioning look, he clarifies:  'He’s left grease stains on it.’ Erik pulls the hem of his leather jacket further into his palm and wipes the rook clean and places it back on the board.

What had Erik said? ‘Paid a fucking fortune for this one’. To know that Erik would sacrifice the state of his jacket in favour of Charles’ gift is by itself Charles’ biggest gift. He wouldn’t want the entire world in exchange for it. Raven would call him a sentimental fool, but how can he not be in the face of Erik’s thoughtfulness? He is remotely aware that his face has decided to stick to an expression that Erik would find funny- so he begins to prepare himself for Erik’s impending laugh. It never comes.

Instead Erik asks him softly, with wide expectant eyes, 'You like it?' Of course he does. 'Of course I do, ’ he says, grinning from ear to ear. His heart swells with the smile that mirrors on Erik’s face.

'Right. ’ He hears Erik’s voice asking him, 'What do you want to do for our ritual?' Their ritual. He had almost forgotten about it. Something just the two of them did on Charles’ birthday.

He makes a show of thinking over it when all he wants to do is snuggle against Erik and fall asleep. When Erik picks the set from his lap and moves to place it in its rightful place, Charles suggests, 'We could play chess. ’

'Please Charles!' Erik’s face contorts like a child’s, forced to drink cough syrup. 'I spent three horrid hours with that thing. Not anymore. ’ Charles knows that Erik’s vexation is only for show and the latter has actually come to like the game. So he lets it pass. 

'We could watch a movie, ’ Charles suggests. 

'Which one? Expendables one, two or three?' Erik asks with gusto.

'None! ’ Charles feigns authority with the raise of his eyebrows. 'And before you protest-’ he peeks at his watch ‘-It still is my birthday, so I get to pick.’ Charles know that he’s not going to concentrate on the movie with Erik sitting next to him. So it really doesn’t matter which movie plays in the background. 

'Fine, ’ Erik concedes, slumping on the Sofa next to him.

He remembers Lorna and Raven complaining of not being to able to complete some movie while he was grading papers a few days ago. Maybe he can continue the same. So he’s not surprised when that turns out to be a boy with floppy brown hair trying to tame a dragon. 

'It’s cartoon Charles! ’ Erik protests initially, but thankfully stays silent after, watching the screen with unmitigated attention. Charles chuckles at one point and to Erik’s questioning look answers, 'You and toothless have the same smile.’ Erik in reply, bares his teeth in the widest grin Charles has ever seen on Erik’s face, so wide that his eyes close and his nose scrunches up. They both end up laughing side by side. There is wetness against his lashes, and this time, he doesn’t know why.

Charles doesn’t know how long into the movie they are or whether it is past midnight, but between one scene and the next, Erik falls asleep. The movie becomes a distant hum in the background next to Erik’s soft snoring beside him. Suddenly, he becomes hyper aware of the chill the breeze brings through the open window, the way Erik’s hand slips an inch from the back of the sofa to brush his shoulder, Erik’s breath ghosting over his ear and down his neck, the smell of cigarettes and earth and the sound of his heart thumping wildly in his chest. He barely has to move to place his head on Erik’s shoulder.

The heat of Erik’s body, the feeble pulse against his forehead and the hot breaths tickling his scalp, pulls Charles into a dreamless sleep.

*

Even though it’s a Saturday, Lorna gets up at her usual time for practice. She doesn’t have anything planned for the day except for having to train with Erik sometime in the evening on her footwork. Maybe she can persuade Charles to tag along. 

Jean’s question pops into her mind when she enters the living room. Erik and Charles are pressed side by side, with Charles’ head on Erik’s shoulder and Erik’s head on top of it. Charles’ glasses have slid down his nose and is crookedly balanced- dangerously close to falling off. There’s a blanket thrown carelessly over their laps. Erik’s hand is cupping Charles’ far shoulder, and she is absolutely sure that the wetness on Charles’ head is Erik’s drool. 

Jean had asked her once- what is Charles is to you and your dad? She doesn't have a concise answer to that question. The two men have raised her together. She has spent more time in Charles’ house than in her own. Charles is her godfather and Erik’s best friend. But it doesn’t end there. It probably never will. The three of them- they are dysfunctional, yet they function; they are impractical, yet they work; they are a mess, yet they make a home. 

She doesn’t know why she remembers it so clearly, but she remembers her eight-year-old self listening to a bright eyed Charles, animatedly explaining to her about a Stellar system far away from Earth. It consists of three starts, he had said, the binary pair- Star A and Star B, along with a dwarf Star C in between them. Star A is the biggest of them all with Star B slightly smaller. The dwarf Star C is gravitationally bound to the other two stars. The star pair AB rotate and revolve around each other, sometimes pushing away and sometimes pulling in, but to an observer on Earth, Star A and B appear to be a single point of light, too close to each other. The three stars together make a triple Star system, moving across time and space together. Bound by gravity, revolving around each other, unable to let go. 

Maybe she remembers it because it describes them best.

-

**Author's Note:**

> The stellar system in question is the [Alpha Centauri Star System](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alpha_Centauri)
> 
> Also [jackyjango](http://jackyjango.tumblr.com)on Tumblr!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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